Sense of Paranoia, Moments of Clarity
by Ebony
Summary: Collection of Lady Deathstrike drabbles. Nobody knew of the battle raging inside her head, one fought between her psyche and Stryker's solution. What was going on in the drug-controlled mind of the silent woman during X2?
1. The White House

**Title:** **SENSE OF PARANOIA, MOMENTS OF CLARITY**

**Rating:** PG-13, language and violence.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or the characters. This was written for entertainment purposes only, with sans profit for myself. 

**Summary:** Collection of Lady Deathstrike drabbles. What was going on in the drug-controlled mind of the silent woman during different events?

**Author's note:** My absolute favourite from X2 was Lady Deathstrike, after Wolverine that is. I'm sad to see there are so little fics that involve her, so I couldn't resist writing these. I've taken some liberties with her personality in this and mostly disregarded her characterization of a vicious baddie in the comics. I've also taken a bit different approach to the subject of Stryker's solution. English is not my native language, so if you spot any errors, please try to ignore them. Since this is my first try at X-Men, feedback would be very much appreciated!

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** - The White House -**

The long hallways of the White House are busy. People are bustling around, going this way and that, having to time to stop. Especially after the incident some odd hours ago that threatened the very existence of President McKenna. If only the President knew what I know… then he wouldn't be so eager to welcome Stryker and his so called advices.

I sit here, on a hard, uncomfortable chair in the lounge next to the President's office and wait, silently observing. That's all I can do these days. Always quiet, speaking only when spoken to, doing exactly like I'm told to. Like a faithful dog, I blindly obey my "master", even though I know there'll be no treat for me when I do as I'm ordered and Stryker is satisfied. There will only more captivity.

My head is throbbing painfully again, but I don't care. What difference would it make whether I cared or not? There's nothing I could do about it, anyway. The drug Stryker keeps on administrating on the back of my neck… it makes sure I'm kept in control. In his control. It robs me of my free will and my personality. I'm forced to do everything he tells me to, and there is no way I can break free of the stranglehold the solution has on my mind. It's simply too powerful.

And yet… I'm still here. I am still myself, somewhere in the back of my mind, driven there by the drug. I see everything, I hear everything and I understand everything, but I have no control over my actions and what I say. And it's the most horrible thing I know. It's almost as if there are two versions of me trapped inside my body, battling over the control. It feels so paranoiac, almost like suffering from a split-personality disorder; me versus the solution. Unfortunately, the other version of me, the one that's spawned by the drug, always wins. That's where the headaches come from, I'm sure; from the constant battle going on inside my head.

That damned solution… it's downright sinister. I swear, sometimes I can hear it speaking to me, taunting me and whispering words that nag on my sanity and make me question myself. It bids me to do all those sickening things I've been forced to execute during the numerous months I've been Stryker's captive. I can still remember the first time I killed under the influence of the drug. I could never forget it, all that blood that spilt on the floor… my claws were stained by it and my clothing was tattered with crimson dots. And the drug made me smile, as if I was actually enjoying it when inside, I was screaming. Screaming from pure anger towards Stryker, his fucking solution and his sick schemes he was striving to complete by using me and turning me into a mindless killer.

The memory still makes me livid, and I get the strongest impulse to get up and find Stryker, unsheathe my claws and stab them into his stocky body over and over again, until he's bleeding, broken and gasping for air, begging me not to kill him… The thought makes me want to smile, but of course, I don't. I can't. Instead, I sit calmly, keep my face passive and wait. I'm still a prisoner in my own body.

//And you'll stay that way//

Not again. It's the drug talking, again… Stop it, stop it, just stop it! Shut the hell up!

//There's nothing you can do and you know it//

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I recognize it's not the actual drug that's making me hear these things. Maybe it's my own subconscious, letting me know not to get my hopes up about breaking free anytime soon.

//Youknowityouknowityouknowityouknowit!//

I so desperately want to block it out, but I can't. I have no choice but to listen. I listen to the taunting for what feels like the longest time, and as it finally stops and leaves me alone, I feel a great urge to exhale out loud. Yet, I remain seated still and keep quiet, my back rigid and straight against the backrest of the chair.

I can feel my fingers getting stiff again. They tend to do that quite often, for the obvious reason. The other part of me obviously discovers this as well, because right then I lift my hands and grab the fingers of you right hand, cracking each of the joints with very audible crunches. From the corner of my eye, I notice the lady behind the desk stop her tasks and stare at my hands. I watch behind my sunglasses as she cringes slightly as I bend my all fingers into hooks, crunching them some more. Calmly, I twirl my fingers yet a bit in the air and lay them on my lap again, offering a very small smirk at the woman. She resumes her job without another look at me, but seems slightly perturbed by my actions. If only she could see my eyes; that would make her even more uncomfortable. Instead of my natural brown eyes, she'd be staring into a cold, metallic grey gaze, courtesy of the solution. Stryker probably added that feature to the liquid to better recognize when the effect was wearing off.

Despite the control the drug had over me, sometimes… rarely, but sometimes, I manage to claim so control, and be aware of my actions again once the solution starts wearing away. They're these small moments of clarity, if you will. This far, Stryker has always been prepared and added another dose before I fully recovered. But one day it'll happen, and when that day comes, Stryker will be sorry. The day of reckoning will come, and turn the situation for better of worse. It's all the same to me, since either way it cannot be much worse than this living hell I'm trapped in at the moment. Actually, I'm looking forward to it.

Suddenly, the door to the President's office opens and Stryker strides out, with another man following him at his heels. I get up and mechanically follow Stryker, falling into step with him. I listen to the conversation between the two men with half an ear, snapping into attention when Stryker introduces me to the other man, Senator Kelly, as his assistant. I offer him my hand and shake it firmly, squeezing maybe a bit too tightly.

"Quite a handshake," Kelly comments with a ghost of a smile. Oh, if you only knew, Senator.

Again tuning out the conversation, I stare at the man I despise more than anyone, thinking about shoving my claws through his head. I feel like smiling again. Instead, my face stays passive. But my day will come, sooner or later.

Oh yes. The day of reckoning will come. And it won't be pretty.

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A/N: What did you think? I'm adding more drabbles of other parts of the movie when I get around writing them. Reviews would be appreciated. :)


	2. Facing Summers

**A/N:** Thanks very much Tique, Lady StarChaser and LuckySparrow for the reviews. They were much appreciated.

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** - Facing Summers -**

I let the Spanish janitor go earlier, even though he kept bothering me. Something about him was off, but I couldn't pin down exactly what. And how the hell did he managed to get into the office in the first place? As far as I know, the palm-print detector next to the door isn't programmed to allow simple janitors inside, not when the computers inside contain such delicate information. After I'd slipped the items I needed inside the bag I brought with me, including the tranquillizer gun that didn't show up in metal detectors, I closed the bag and locked the drawer again. Pocketing the keys, I briefly glanced at the screen of the computer that Stryker mainly uses. The screensaver was rolling, and everything seems normal. Yet, I couldn't shake off the feeling something isn't quite correct there.

But never mind that now. Stryker has a job for me to do. It is to obtain Professor Xavier when he's visiting Eric Lensherr, also know as Magneto, in that plastic prison of his. And I will. Mr. Lensherr has had the pleasure of experiencing the effect of Stryker's solution himself. Lensherr told Stryker everything he wanted to know, from Xavier's School being merely a public face to a mutant facility, as well as the Cerebro, which is Stryker's main goal. That bastard intends to use Xavier and wipe out every mutant from the face of the earth. Including me. And there's nothing I can do about it; I can only do exactly as Stryker tells me to do, and that's what I'm doing right now. I'm submitting myself to my doom, even if unwittingly. And all this just because his own son turned out to be a mutant.

I dismiss those thoughts as I draw closer to my destination, the plastic of the tranquillizer gun cool against my palm. Undeniable excitement suddenly courses though my veins; it's the anticipation of a fight, a thrilling adrenaline rush. I'm actually looking forward to the confrontation of the other mutant, Scott Summers, and this feeling makes me anxious. I can't tell anymore if it's the solution making me feel like this, or is it really _me_. Have I started to change during the captivity? I've always been a competitive person, but I've never liked violence and physical confrontations. Have I truly started to slowly enjoy this?

No! No, I am not like that.

//I wouldn't be so sure about that, Yuriko//

Fuck you.

The white doors slide open, allowing me in as I draw closer to them. As soon as I step in, I raise my arm and fire the gun, the dart flying thought the air and hitting Summers straight on his right shoulder. He stares at it for a second, before lifting his head and looking at me as his hand already flies up to his visor.

I'm surprised the sedative doesn't seem to be having much of effect on him, and before I even realize it, there's a bright flash of red and an incredibly powerful force slams on my shoulder, knocking me back violently and making me lose my footing as well as my grip on the gun. As I catch my breath, struggling to recover from the power of the blast that was stronger than I thought, I'm vaguely aware that the guard next to the door also gets blasted, until there are sounds of scuffling feet and punches as Summers fights the guards off of him.

By now I've recovered enough to pick myself up from the ground, getting on my hands and knees. My shades are lying on the floor, useless, but right now I couldn't care less. A sudden, intense anger floods my mind, making me see red. The only thought in my head now is to beat the living hell out of that man. Slowly, I turn my head towards Summers, carefully getting up from the floor just as he throws the guards' plastic batons away and whirls around to blast the door to Lensherr's cell where Xavier is trapped.

You stupid, foolish man... you should know not to turn your back to your enemy, especially if the enemy is an angry female who could slice off your damn head with one swipe. The aggression inside me builds up even further, and a small snarl escapes my lips as I spring up and charge towards Summers, fury fuelling my steps. He turns around, sensing my approach, but it's already too late for him to react.

With a yell, I jump up and bring my feet up in the air, slamming my heels against the door on the both sides of Summers' head while grabbing him by his collar tightly. I can't see his eyes, but I know he's surprised by the way his jaw drops slightly. Whether is because of my speed or the cold, metallic blue of my eyes. In the next second, I slam my other foot against his temple, hard, as I twirl by body around and land on the floor on my hands and feet. Summers drops on the floor at the same moment, unconscious.

I get up, standing up slowly and crack my stiff fingers out of a habit as I look down at the three men, all out cold. Small smirk quirks my lips, and I feel immensely satisfied that I'm the last one standing. But at the same time, I'm very disappointed. I had hoped for a better opponent and a proper battle. The very thought makes me feel disgusted. I'm not supposed to enjoy fighting or harming others!

//Admit it, you loved it//

Stiffly, I walk back to the spot over the entrance, picking up my shades from the floor. Luckily they're undamaged, so I slip them back on and try not to pay attention to the persistent voice nagging inside my mind that's been keeping me rather unwanted company for quite a while already.

//You loved it and you hate yourself for loving it//

The doors slide open again, and Stryker strolls in with five other men. Two proceed to detain Summers and the rest of them open the door that leads to the cell, going in. Stryker gazes down at the unconscious Summers, before flicking his gaze towards Lensherr's cell, smirking smugly. "Good work, Yuriko."

I stand there stoically, inclining my head marginally in acknowledgement even though I feel like letting him know exactly where to shove his thanks. My mouth remains tightly closed. Stryker orders the men around before signalling me to follow. "We have lot to do, yet," he smirks, starting to walk out of the room.

And as always, I follow him mutely.

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End file.
